Perfect Corners
by WhiteAsh
Summary: The idea for this little romp comes from a friend of mine who said, Konzen's in love with his work.


Title: Perfect Corners.  
Author/Artist: Carolyn Steven  
Warnings: PG-13 for OOC perverted office behaviour  
Pairing(s): Konzen/Work  
Notes: Comes from a friend of mine who said, "Konzen's in love with his work."

The clock stopped ticking.

The clock was seriously beginning to grate on his nerves. It had been ticking incessantly and now it had suddenly gone silent. It was bad enough that it was a shoddy clock, but having a broken clock meant his work space was disorganized. Konzen simply couldn't handle his workspace if everything wasn't kept in exactly the right place.

Sighing, he picked up the clock and wondered what else repairing it might involve besides smashing it against his desk a few times, which had worked previously. He set it down again and folded his hands. His clock was now approximately one minute behind the others. This bothered him. His clock couldn't be behind as this would mean his work space would be inferior!

He smacked the clock against his desk once and sighed in relief as the telltale ticking began again. It had been a violent resuscitation to be sure, but since his clock was ticking again it meant he could go back to work.

Ah yes... his work. He looked over the documents which lay sprawled before him. Carefully, he ran his fingers along the edges of the paper as he lined them up. The corners had to be absolutely perfect and seeing them this way made his breath catch in his throat. All that remained was to adminster an ink stamp to the corner, a wet connection soon to be dried and forgotten.

But he loved every minute of it. The stamp had lined up perfectly in the corner of the page.. he shivered at its perfection then blew lightly across the paper to dry the ink. The smell of the paper was beginning to make his fingers tingle. He folded the document gently, then firmly pressed it; the sides were equal. The beauty of this sight was unrivaled by any other in Heaven.

He fished out another document, smoothing the sides and wincing slightly as the edge cut his finger... the blood dripped onto the paper. It was seeping into the milky white, perfection that he'd worked so hard to maintain. He knew it was too late to salvage... and brought the paper to his lips, his tongue licking up his own blood from the paper. A red tear stain the only reminder.

It wouldn't be the last paper to be ruined while in his keeping, but his mind had moved on. His paper work wasn't the only part of his job. He shivered as he surveyed the pile of stamped and organized documents. The pile was mesmerizing. He leaned closer to it, his finger moving up and down the length of the stack. The smell of ink and paper filled his senses.

He brought his lips to the top of the completed documents. The soft paper was gentle and silent; never complaining or wanting anything more than to be completed by Konzen's hands. He held the pile close to his chest, feeling it against his heart. He knew then what he had to do. There was filing to be done.

Konzen carefully picked up the stack of documents and walked across his office to the cabinet. The feeling of the cold steel against his hands as he gripped the handle and wrenched it toward himself was overwhelming. He fell to his knees before the filing cabinet and carefully began pushing the completed document into their respective folders.

Pushing. Folding. Pulling out to correct and refile. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The only sounds were of his breath and the sliding hiss of paper as it moved through the dense folder, sometimes resisting and needing encouragement. Konzen guided each of the documents in and with each completed task he felt himself growing more and more overwhelmed.

He covered his mouth, his body shivering. The final document lay on his desk, unfiled due to being spoiled. Konzen approached it, panting deeply. The red stain mocked him. It defied his want of organization and peace of mind. It challenged his dominance. He brought the paper to his chest, feeling the smoothness once more and gasping. The smallest of imperfections could be felt were words were written hastily from the beginning to the stamp.

Konzen finally relaxed himself long enough to bring the paper before his eyes. It could have been filed and forgotten like so many others which had spent time in his hands. The smooth, silent touches of paper on flesh all but a collective memory. This one stood out in his memory. The one which had bitten him and sapped at his blood. A rebellious action against the one who held its life in the balance.

The entire time his eyes had surveyed this page, his body had responded. He was gasping for breath now, helpless before the final document. He couldn't file it. It was a stain. It was an imperfection. He couldn't allow it. His body tensed and he cried allowed as he tore the paper in two, gasping and sinking into his chair, exhausted.

The clock stopped ticking.


End file.
